Fear Not, My Child
by Whittaker
Summary: Most Bards sing to make their listeners stronger, faster, or smarter... others sing because they want their stories to be heard. A story of life and death in Vana'diel.
1. Prelude

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Also, this is my first real attempt at a fanfic. Please R&R, but please be generous, I wanna get better! Oh, and I haven't reached Level 71 on my Bard yet and therefore have not learned the song Goddess's Hymnus. Regardless, I do know its purpose and have changed it (and other details) only for dramatic purposes. Enjoy. :)  
_

**Fear Not, My Child  
**by Whittaker - Bahamut Server

It had been a long day. I had been working since the sun came up over the eastern horizon, and now that same sun was sinking drowsily to the west. My back ached from hunching over the workbench, and my joints crackled as I stretched after hours of delicate woodworking. Scattered about me were the fruits of my labor – broken dowels and fletchings, shattered crystals, shrapnel from a dozen splinters. Most important, however, was the ten identical piles of arrows which sat at the corner of my desk, arrows that would fetch a good price at the auction house tomorrow morning.

I glanced at the clock and saw that the tavern would be opening soon. I started to pack my things. Unlike many of the other adventurers in Jeuno, I did not possess the inexplicable need to be constantly – obsessively – on the move. Watching them running back and forth from my window, I'd wonder if any of them would keel over from sheer exhaustion now and then.

No, I liked to sit back and enjoy the company of my peers. Sometimes, I thought I could live an exciting life just by listening to their stories, by living vicariously through their escapades. Through others, Kirin and Vrtra and Tiamat came to life for me, and I didn't have to risk my life in the process. Knowing this, I spent a few evenings every week nursing an ale at the pub.

I knew my moogle would clean up after me, so I swept my cape over my shoulders and headed for the Beau Soir. Something inside me whispered tonight would be a special night.

* * *

The fireplace always had a hypnotic effect on me. It wasn't a particularly cold night outside, but the flickering of the firelight made the small room cozy. The ale at the Beau Soir was famous for its sweetness, which made it popular despite its small size. 

"A single _persikos au lait_, please."

It wasn't the fact that someone ordered the most expensive drink on the menu that caught my attention. Rather, it was the fact that he wore tattered clothing and a particularly large, round hat that could only mean that he was a traveling minstrel.

The bard wearily sat down at the fireplace and removed his hat. He stared steadily into the fire, much as I had been doing before he walked into the pub. But his gaze was like that of the undead, never blinking, never changing focus. If I myself had not seen him sit down, I would have taken him for an incredibly life-like statue.

"No tune for us tonight, minstrel?" I asked.

Unmoving, he replied, "I have no need to sing for my wages, good sir."

"Then sing for the sake of our weary souls. Music does much to make light of our troubles."

I saw his shoulders move up and down in a patient sigh. "A bard cannot just sing the words to a song, sir, but must feel it in his very bones. I am afraid I am in no condition for merriment tonight."

"Alas, it is a sad day for all when a bard cannot be convinced to sing. What is it, pray tell, that robs us of one of our very few earthly comforts?"

At last, the bard turned to me and pierced me with his gaze. "It is a long story to tell. Ask me to continue only if you will listen to the whole of my tale."

I smiled. "Altana created Elvaan ears to be especially good at listening."

"In that case, be well aware," he said, turning back to the hearth, "my story starts many years ago.

"It is one of fire, of nightmares, and of starlight…"


	2. Exposition

The water was warm and silky. Traum took off his mittens and let his fingers trail through the brine. The sun peeked over the horizon to Traum's left, and from its meager dawn rays, he could see silver fish darting back and forth in the sea around his body.

Traum recited a quiet prayer. Taking his knife from its sheath, he slit a clean line in his palm and let his blood flow out into the golden water that surrounded him.

_Ye persecuted goddess, hear my plea… ye daughter of Ifrit, answer my call…ye cursed mistress of the sea, accept my sacrifice…_

A wind blew in softly from the ocean, and Traum felt a hand on his shoulder and a whisper in his ear.

"You have come a long way, Bard…"

He turned and beheld the form of a beautiful woman. She was dressed in a gown of red and purple feathers that twinkled in the morning sunlight. A crown of orange flowers circled her long, black hair. She carried a glittering harp, twice as large as anything Traum had ever played.

Traum knew he had to be cautious. Tales of a treacherous goddess ran rampant in Bardic repertoire. Adventurers disappeared on the beaches of Valkurm on a regular basis, but not all of them were taken by monsters.

"If I am not mistaken, I know exactly what it is you seek from me," the woman said, smiling.

"Not many would come to you willingly," said Traum, "if you did not have such a powerful spell in your possession."

She smiled. "Indeed. Many travel to my beach in search of this spell, but rarely do I find one as worthy as you." The woman's ruby red eyes flickered to the ruins of an overturned boat, stranded on the nearby beach. "But the high goddess Altana has not been kind to me. All I desire is the eternal company of a worthy… guest. Instead, I witness the deaths of countless adventurers on my shores."

"Most who come here are young and foolish. Altana seems to have blessed them with the gift of continuous reincarnation." Traum bandaged his hand and tried not to speak with bitterness. "However, I come on behalf of one who has no such blessing."

"Ah, yes, your beloved Oro…" The woman smiled again, mysteriously. "There is no hope for any mortal to achieve true immortality except through his children. They say children are the one true life after death."

"…Unless perhaps you possess the power of a god," Traum interrupted.

The woman pressed her body close to Traum's. He could smell the faint scent of lilies that had begun to fester. "And what could a mortal ever hope to offer to one such as myself? I do not surrender the power of the Hymnus so easily…"

_Don't listen to her._ Traum gathered his courage. _She is a succubus in divine clothing._ "You cannot beguile me, goddess. I know how quickly you tire of your 'eternal companions'. You used your skills as a bard to enchant men to do your bidding, then you discarded them as soon as it convenienced you. It is why Altana cursed you in the first place." Traum turned away. "How you came to be in possession of the Hymnus is beyond me."

The woman's eyes sparkled with annoyance, but the mask of her smile stayed the same.

"Do not underestimate my power, Bard. I am the most powerful musician that Vana'diel has ever seen. I can make the rocks speak and the birds die in mid-air. The Phoenix is my plaything, and his feathers adorn my body."

"And yet, you cannot find a husband."

"You've got spirit, Bard Traum… I like that. Not many would dare come to my domain and speak with such audacity."

Traum turned to face her again, but she had disappeared.

For a moment, Traum despaired that his journey had already come to an end, but Siren continued. "There is a sacred treasure called Pele's Hair. Fetch it from the house of my father Ifrit, and I will reward you most handsomely."

Her voice echoed on the wind. "Time is already running out, Bard. You have a month; after that, even my Hymnus will not bring your precious Oro back to you."

* * *

Traum's life was a quiet one. Contrary to his profession, he did not prefer making a great deal of noise. A lute, a comfortable corner, and a captive audience were all he needed to be happy for the evening. In order to put food on the table, that audience was usually a bunch of drunken, loud-mouthed ruffians who paid no attention to whether he was singing about Titan or tomatoes.

But on other nights, on the rare occasion when the money was good, that captive audience was his son.

Those were the nights he lived for. Oro would sit at his feet, his head against Traum's knee as he played, blonde hair reflecting the light of the fireplace. Traum would invent grand adventures of brave Mithra chieftesses and Elvaan warriors leaping into the heart of battle. He would sing of the fabled meadows of Lufaise and the tall trees of Zi'Tah. These were places Traum would never see in his lifetime, but they would come alive in Traum's music through the stories of other adventurers.

Oro would never stir or fidget during any of my songs, but Traum knew he paid attention. Sometimes he would ask where one of these magical places was, and all Traum could answer was "far to the east" or "somewhere in the north". Traum wished silently that he could tell Oro more about these magical realms, but every time, Oro would smile and be content with Traum's vague response.

Finally, Traum would hear Oro's breathing become deep and regular, and he would see his eyelids droop under the weight of the melody.

Late one night, Traum was singing about Snow Whitaru and the Seven Goblins. When Traum thought Oro had fallen fast asleep, he stopped playing.

Immediately, Oro awakened and cried, "Daddy, why did you stop?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I thought you were asleep."

"Well… I was, kinda. But I could still hear you, and I want to know what happens next."

Traum patted him on the head and picked up his harp again. "Alright, Oro, I'll finish the story."

"You hafta make sure to sing the whole song every time, okay, Daddy?"

"Why's that?"

"Because the people in the story won't get their happy ending! The story keeps going, even though you stop telling it."

Traum looked at him questioningly. "Now, Oro, wherever did you hear such a thing?"

"It's true! If you stop telling a story in the middle, then the people in it get stuck in whatever they're doing. You have to keep telling the story so they get all the way to the end and they can be happy!"

Laughing, he began strumming his harp again. "Okay, okay, I'll be sure to sing the whole song every time, just for you."

"…Promise?"

Oro looked up at him with his enormous brown eyes. Traum didn't have the heart to tell him that most of the stories were just made up, tales invented to help him go to bed. He replied, "For you, anything."

* * *

The most generous descriptions of Ifrit's Cauldron were that of a greenhouse within a sauna within a jungle. Only the most adventurous (or the most insane) of adventurers dared to enter the belly of the fire god's domain, and few survived to tell the tale.

It was about as far from civilization as one could get in the land of Vana'diel. To reach it, one must travel through the Yuhtunga and Yhoator Jungles. Both of these dense forest were fraught with goblins, lizards, marlboros, and some of the most evil of beastmen, the Tonberries.

For Traum, it might as well have been traveling to the stars.

"You want… how much?"

The stern Galka barely gave Traum any attention as he shuffled papers, transaction receipts, and triplicate forms around on his desk. "You heard me, an airship pass to the Outland town of Kazham costs one hundred fifty thousand gil."

Traum ran a hand through his messy brown hair. Typical of bards,he was rather poor. He was not the best fighter in the land, nor was he skilled at smithing or alchemy like so many other adventurers were. The meager coin he did received from the tavern usually went straight to the grocer, Oro's school, or the tax collector. He considered it an excellent night when he counted out two thousand gil from his lute case.

"You can't be serious!" Traum exclaimed. "That's over two months' wage!"

"Sorry, bud, I don't make the prices, I just collect the money."

"Please, my son is…" Traum's stomach lurched at the white lie. "He's… sick. I must go to Elshimo in order to obtain his cure."

"Cure? Why don't you ask one of those fancy white mages running around here all day? I'm sure they don't have anything better to do," the Galka said. "Better yet, go see the doctor. I know this witch who lives out in Sarutabaruta that charges in insect wings. She's a hell of a lot cheaper than going to Kazham."

Traum sighed and turned to leave. "Thanks, anyway."

_Where am I going to get that much money?_ No amount of singing on street corners or in filthy bars would generate enough gil to get him even close to that price. Traum thought about stowing away or counterfeiting a ticket.

The Galka yelled after him, "Don't even think about stowing away or counterfeiting a ticket! We'll know!"

_So much for that idea._

Outside the travel agency, crowds thronged on the busy streets of Port Jeuno. It was the edge of summer, and adventurers were using the warm weather to their advantage. Peddlers of all shapes and sizes sat on either side of the thoroughfare, hoping the adventurers would drop a few gil. Traum didn't have anything of great value to sell besides his instruments, and he would be on his deathbed before he could allow himself to sell his lute and harp.

He found an empty corner of the street and opened his instrument case. _Might as well get started. Siren said I only have a month to get this treasure of hers_.

Traum tuned the strings of his lute, cleared his throat, and launched into his repertoire. He sang of thetragic love of Peleas and Melisande, Tristan and Isolde, and Romeo and Julietaru. The random shouts of Jeunoan conversation threatened to overwhelm his song, but Traum's voice soared over the crowd. A fewidlers turned their heads to listen to his music, but as time went on, only a scattering of gold pieces found their way into Traum's case.

He sighed. It seemed most people thought Bard songs were only good when they encouraged adventurers to fight harder and run faster.

Traum nearly gave up and started to close his case when he felt a tug at the hem of his pants.

"Excuse me, sir..." Traum looked down and saw a Tarutaru in peculiar blue clothing. "I was wondering if you could help me."

Traum knelt down to speak with the Taru face to face. Some Tarus were extremely self-conscious when it came to their height, and there was a part of Traum that always wanted to make the people around him comfortable.

"You see, I was listening to you and I believe you're very talented-walented. Judging from the gil you have in your case, I believe you're also very broke." He smiled sympathetically. "I think I might have an offer you won't be able to refuse..."


End file.
